After
by FanfictionWriter83729
Summary: Complete. Oneshot series, semi-crossover with Golden Compass. 9: Optimus; But while they could almost visualize the dæmons of their intergalactic friends, Optimus’ remained hidden inside him. Optimus was an enigma.
1. Sam

**Disclaimer: **Transformers; do not own. His Dark Materials/Golden Compass; do not own.

**Summary: **Oneshot, semi-crossover. Only after the whole running-for-your-lives bit did some form of shyness set in. Sam thinks that it would be much easier to get to know their intergalactic neighbours if only they had dæmons.

**Rating: **K+

**Author note: **For starwild over at tf2007fun, who wanted to see dæmons in movieverse. Hope you enjoy!

* * *

After

It had been a few weeks since Mission City. There was still a government frenzy going on in the background, covering up the fact that they were not alone in the universe, and there were still plenty of questions and too little answers. However, things were winding down. Sam and his family were home. Sam and Mikaela had started going back to school. While Optimus, Ratchet, and a newly fixed Jazz were at the makeshift Autobot base, Ironhide had opted to stay with the Lennoxes.

Bumblebee had officially moved in with the Witwickies.

It was three past midnight. Sam and his dæmon were wide awake, the boy staring at the ceiling, his cougar dæmon beside him, raising her head every once in a while to glance outside the window, before nuzzling her human comfortingly and curling up closer beside him.

Sam wondered if Bumblebee was still awake. Tristanne thought that their yellow guardian was, but who could tell?

It was so strange. He had been enraged, to say the least, when Sector Seven had taken Bumblebee away. He and the Autobot had fought alongside one another and had fought for one another in Mission City. Bumblebee had freakin' _saved his life _on more than one occasion.

And yet, it was only here in the midst of almost normalcy and in the midst of calm, it was only after the whole running-for-your-lives bit did some form of shyness set in.

Sam and his dæmon had to laugh at the absurdity of it all.

Sam didn't make friends easily, like Miles did. He wasn't like Mikaela either, who was stiffly polite the first few moments and then was your best friend for life afterwards, if she liked you.

Despite this, Sam was not a timid person. Though it had only been a short while, and though Bumblebee had been recently absent, what with helping to set up the makeshift base and all, Sam was sure that he and Bumblebee would have been best friends already, if only Bumblebee had a dæmon.

"He'd probably think it's silly," Sam remarked to his dæmon. "There he is, giant sentient robot from outer space, and here we are, squishy organics, and we think that the biggest difference between us is _that_."

"Don't know why it bothers us so much," Tristanne replied. "All things considered, there are other differences that are just as big."

But they both knew that this particular difference was bigger than anything else. They saw something human-esque in Bumblebee, so much so that it was like having a literally big brother in a suit of impenetrable armour. However, a person without a dæmon was like a person without a head, or with their ribs splayed open and their heart torn out.

Sam gave a frustrated sigh. "You don't see the Autobots giving this much of a damn about humans not having sparks."

But it was a huge difference. It would have been so much easier if Autobots were doubly-occurring like humans were. There were so many questions. The great taboo, for one. Was it proper for Tristanne to ride in…to _touch _Bumblebee? Bumblebee was a person, no doubt about it. But a person never touched another person's dæmon. It was more than forbidden. Even in battle, a warrior would not touch an enemy's dæmon.

Except the Decepticons. They remembered how Megatron had attempted to snatch Tristanne, and Sam felt goose bumps rising on his arms. Tristanne's fur rose, and he held her closely. No, there was something insanely _wrong _about those beings. Though they were from the same race, they were not like the Autobots at all.

And if their dæmons did freely make contact with the Autobots, were they then denying the fact that Autobots were people?

There was no choice about it, sometimes. Sam knew that, after being saved by Bumblebee, Mikaela already had been instinctively at least a tad uncomfortable about riding in him, mostly because Adair was much to big to sit in her lap and was curled up in Bumblebee's backseat, wary and alert, trying his hardest to touch as little of Bumblebee as possible.

Besides the whole taboo thing, there were also smaller problems. It was hard, really, to know what they were thinking, to correctly interpret their words. The Autobots picked up stuff like tone and body language easily enough, and the humans, for their part, were getting pretty good at interpreting the Autobots' own versions of sighs, titters, shrugs, blushes, and a variety of facial expressions.

But, because an Autobot consisted of one body, they could not compensate for the absence of dæmons. A dæmon's expressions and posture counted as much as the human's in a conversation, and since Autobots were without this second body, the resulting 'picture' that the humans perceived of the Autobots' emotions and words was fuzzy.

The humans were clumsy, to say the least, in communicating with the Autobots. It would have been clumsy and strained anyway, but the fact that they occurred singularly added another level of complexity.

And the Autobots didn't really know how to conduct themselves around the humans and their dæmons. How could they? It was an absurd expectation to place upon them, to instinctively know some things like humans did, and they really were trying. Bumblebee had tried using a holoform of a wolf in place of a dæmon, but perhaps he realized that the humans were more creeped out by a false dæmon than by an absent dæmon, because he had soon stopped.

Sam turned over to lie on his stomach, and Tristanne uncurled and curled up again. They gave a quick glance out the window. They could sense each other's thoughts concerning the newest addition to their family.

"If human dæmons have animal forms," Sam said, "then does that mean that Autobot dæmons would be cars or trucks or something?"

"What would Bumblebee's dæmon look like?"

"Don't know. Maybe something small. Small but powerful." Sam toyed with the idea of a yellow VW Beetle, but Tristanne objected to that as soon as Sam thought it.

In the end, a picture of a fully transformed fifteen foot tall Bumblebee walking around with a yellow Camaro by his side popped into their mind.

"Camaro," Sam said.

"A yellow one, with black racing stripes," Tristanne added.

Sam shifted position again, this time lying on his side. Tristanne lifted her head to face him.

"Maybe a spark is what happens when a human and a dæmon become one," Sam said.

"We are one," Tristanne protested. "You and I are one person." Her head came under Sam's chin, and Sam rubbed her coarse tawny fur comfortingly.

"Well, one in a different way. Like, physically one," Sam said. "Like, somehow, Bumblebee is his own dæmon." A new train of thought entered his mind, and Tristanne looked up at him expectantly. "It must be lonely for him," he added, absently stroking her fur. Even running for who knows how many lives in Mission City, Sam was never alone. Tristanne was always with him, running alongside him. She was his shadow, his companion, his very own heart. He didn't know loneliness like Bumblebee did.

"Maybe that's why he's so…timid," Tristanne said, though neither of them knew this before. "Around us, at least. Maybe it was born of loneliness."

"Maybe we have to make the first move," Sam said. Tristanne jumped off the bed, and Sam was a heartbeat after her. They passed Ron and Judy's bedroom. The stellar jay ruffled his feathers slightly, and the badger gave a soft grunt, but they were otherwise undisturbed. It seemed that in an instant, the boy and his dæmon were standing in front of Bumblebee.

"You are not sleeping," Bumblebee said. He sounded unsurprised and unamused, like a parent or an older sibling confronting a young child that had stayed up past their bed time. In their mind's eye, Sam and his dæmon could hear Bumblebee's Camaro-dæmon give a disapproving rev of the engine. Maybe this could wait until morning…

Tristanne rubbed against the side of his leg, and he remembered why he was out there in the first place.

"You want to go by the lake?" he blurted out. Maybe Bumblebee was surprised, because he said nothing. Tristanne gave a small, distressed growl, and Sam hurried on. "Well, I mean, I was thinking that the sunrise is really beautiful there, and you might enjoy seeing it, but if you don't want to, that's okay too. I mean, you must be really tired and all—"

"I would love to," Bumblebee answered, calmly stopping Sam's ramble. Tristanne's ears perked.

"Really?"

"Yes. Do you think that you'll be able to get up in time?" Bumblebee added. Sam wasn't certain, but he was pretty sure that Bumblebee was teasing him. Tristanne gave a tentative purr.

"I'm pretty sure," Sam said, "but, just in case…" He pulled open Bumblebee's door. "Do you mind?"

"Not at all," Bumblebee said mildly. "This way, I'll be able to make sure that you get some sleep, at least."

Tristanne snorted, and Sam rolled his eyes. "You're taking this guardian thing a bit too seriously, in my opinion."

"Not in mine," Bumblebee said in a sing-song voice. His door was open. Sam and Tristanne looked at one another, and they remembered how they came to the conclusion that Bumblebee was his own dæmon.

Tristanne climbed in. If Bumblebee was surprised, neither Sam nor Tristanne noticed. Sam followed, settling into the driver's seat, Tristanne's head and forepaws resting on top of his thigh.

"Wake me when it's time?" Sam asked. Tristanne's eyes were already closed, and Sam barely managed to stifle a yawn long enough to ask the question.

"Of course," Bumblebee answered.

It wasn't the most glorious of moments, nor the most memorable, but their first move, in the form of a simple question, a simple invitation, had already crossed a barrier.

They didn't go to the lake that day. Though Bumblebee tried everything (he was reluctant to try at all, given Sam's sleep deprivation, but he did promise…), from hard rock music to happy polka music, Sam and his dæmon slept right through the morning and into the afternoon in the figurative arms of a friend.

* * *

**Rather long author notes: **Yes, Bumblebee does have backseats in this crossover. Because people on Earth occur doubly, a human and a dæmon, a two-seater would either only fit one person and his/her dæmon, or two people with dæmons small enough to perch on a shoulder or curl up in a lap. In this particular 'verse, during the tunnel scene where Bumblebee momentarily ditches his passengers, Sam and Mikaela were actually crammed into the driver's seat, and their dæmons (a jaguar and a Chihuahua, at the time) were squishing into the passenger's seat. So Bumblebee went and upgraded himself to a newer version with backseats.

Also: well, after all that, Sam ended up being a cougar. Independent, agile, adaptable (judging by natural cougars' range of habitats), protective (i.e. female cougar with her cubs), not as strong as other members of the family but capable predators of their own right.

…

Dammit, Sam! None of the other fanfiction!characters give me as much problems as you do!

Also, it could just be a weird quirk of mine that humans strongly associated with Bumblebee are paired with cat-family daemons. For example, in AUG1, Spike's dæmon is a cheetah, and Carly's is a white tiger (besides the whole the dæmon-is-the-person-on-the-inside thing, there's also a thinly veiled yet esoteric reference there). In AUMovieverse, Sam's is a cougar and Mikaela's is a jaguar.


	2. Lennox

**Disclaimer: **Transformers; do not own. His Dark Materials/Golden Compass; do not own.

**Summary: **Semi-crossover; oneshot series. Lennox was slightly envious of Sam and Mikaela... They were closer to the age where childhood plasticity and imagination reigned, where their dæmons changed from form to form on a whim, and where they thought that anything, even making friends with aliens from outer space, was possible.

* * *

After

**Lennox**

It had been a few weeks since Mission City. There was still a government frenzy going on in the background, covering up the fact that they were not alone in the universe, and there were still plenty of questions and too little answers. However, things were winding down. Lennox had taken up a new job offer, working with giant sentient robots. He was finally home with his wife and growing baby. While Optimus, Ratchet, and a newly fixed Jazz were at the makeshift Autobot base, Bumblebee had opted to stay with the Witwickies.

Ironhide had moved in with the Lennoxes.

It was late in the afternoon. Annabelle, who had just started walking, was making her way slowly around Ironhide, leaning on him for support. Sarah was an arms length away, and both she and Ironhide were giving praise and encouragement. Lennox and his wolf dæmon were watching this scene from the front porch. He watched an unsteady but determined Annabelle in wonder, her dæmon perched on her shoulder as a mouse, before clumsily taking flight beside her as a fledgling sparrow.

"It's amazing, isn't it?" he said quietly to his dæmon.

"It is," Sidney answered. "Anna took to Ironhide like fish to water."

"Remember when we were younger?"

"Yep. How could I forget?"

"Times like these…"

"Yeah. Times like these."

She leaned against him, her grey head reaching his midriff. Lennox stroked the fur behind her ears.

Lennox was slightly envious of Sam and Mikaela, though he would never admit it. They were closer to the age where childhood plasticity and imagination reigned, where their dæmons changed from form to form on a whim, and where they thought that anything, even making friends with aliens from outer space, was possible.

Sam had no hesitation in going out with Bumblebee for a drive, and his cougar dæmon was confident in getting into Bumblebee's backseat. Mikaela was a little more awkward, but even she was getting more and more familiar with Bumblebee, and each day her dæmon hesitated a little less about touching their yellow friend.

He had to wonder at their boldness. No person would touch another person's dæmon.

"Maybe because they're sentient alien robots, the kids don't think that the great taboo applies," he remarked.

"Maybe," she said, ears swivelling and head turning to look up at him. "But I don't think so. These guys are people. Sam and Mikaela don't seem the type to deny or to be blind to that."

"You're right. They don't seem the type. I wonder what they know?"

"Sam did tell us that they were their own dæmons."

But both knew that it wasn't the case. If Autobots were their own dæmons, then that meant that the Decepticons were their own dæmons. Though it dæmons fought alongside their humans, Lennox was filled with pure fear and disgust at the thought of a Decepticon grabbing Sidney—and it wasn't connected to the fact that a Decepticon could kill them both easily. No, this was a completely different sort of fear. Sidney started growling, and he soothed her.

"That's not it though," he said, stroking her fur. "He might have thought that at first, but it's changed. He knows something else now. So does Mikaela."

"But we can't ask them now, can we?"

"Nope. It's like learning the names of other peoples' dæmons. We have to learn it ourselves, or else it won't mean anything."

Meanwhile, Annabelle was getting tired of just going round and round and round. Keiran was a chipmunk on her shoulder, a sparrow fluttering clumsily beside her, a butterfly perching on Ironhide's side mirror, then hanging from his open window haphazardly on a thread as a spider.

Then a question popped into their mind. Ironhide was big. Bigger than Daddy and Mommy put together. But how big was he?

Annabelle squatted near a convenient crevice, and the adults thought that she was just resting. But then Keiran was a ladybug, and crawled into said convenient crevice.

"No, wait, don't!" Lennox and Sidney heard Ironhide cry out in alarm, startling them from their musings. Then Annabelle squealed and giggled.

Curious, Lennox jumped lightly over the porch fence, his dæmon a leaping grey shadow after him. "What's wrong?" he asked. Sarah was crouched down and holding Annabelle in her arms. Sarah's whitetail stag bent his antlered head to whisper to her, and pawed the ground, betraying her nervousness. Annabelle's dæmon was nowhere in sight.

"Lennox," Ironhide rumbled tightly, "your progeny's companion has inserted himself inside my systems."

"'Hidey-hide _big,_" Annabelle said, clapping her hands together and laughing in glee. Whatever Keiran was doing inside Ironhide's systems, he must have been enjoying himself.

"Anna, honey," Sarah said, chocking back laughter as her Xavier scoffed openly. "You have to get out of Ironhide now."

"Please Anna? It's not nice," Lennox put in. Sidney whined softly.

"Fun-fun," Annabelle told them innocently, and then laughed again as Keiran found something shiny.

"I think he's near my spark casing," Ironhide said tightly.

"Is it dangerous?" Lennox asked. Unlike Xavier, who contented himself with lying on the ground, though his eyes never left the tiny hole that Keiran crawled into, Sidney paced around the Autobot anxiously.

"No…but," Ironhide said in a small voice, "I think he's changed into a spider. Get him _out._" His tone dared them to laugh. Sarah put a comforting hand on her husband's arm, and Xavier nuzzled Sidney's grey fur.

After a couple of hours in this tableau, Keiran, completely pleased with himself, finally made his way out. Sarah took Annabelle, exhausted now with Keiran as a garden snake coiled around her arm, inside the house. Lennox stayed outside, telling Sarah that he'd join them in a few minutes.

Ironhide transformed, stretching after spending nearly two hours being as still as an insentient car as he could. Lennox watched in silence with Sidney leaning against him. He wasn't used to thinking of himself as a child, but, when looking at Ironhide, he thought how, even though he was a father already, he must have seemed so young to this being from the stars.

"Sorry about that," Lennox said, standing a little ways before Ironhide. This was very awkward. Sidney gave a small, inaudible whine that Lennox felt in his flesh. "You said he was near your—your spark chamber, right? I hope that wasn't painful for you."

"It wasn't even uncomfortable," Ironhide told him, sitting down in what was an amazingly human-like cross-legged position. An uncomfortable silence prevailed, and Lennox, at a loss for what to do now, sat down in an imitation of Ironhide's posture. Sidney put her head and her paws on his knee, giving Ironhide an apologetic look.

"I underestimated the changing abilities of your progeny's companion," Ironhide said gruffly, as though he was reluctantly admitting to some mistake. "I apologize. If you will allow me another chance, I will keep a closer optic—"

Lennox waved him off. "Don't worry about it. You have nothing to apologize for." He sighed, stroking Sidney's fur absently. "Annabelle's dæmon…he becomes everything, gets to places where us adults can't get to him. You know, when you're younger, you think that everything is possible and your dæmon can take any form she wants. Days like these kinda makes you miss those times."

"I understand that it is normal for humans to reminisce about their childhood years," Ironhide said. His tone was almost gentle. "Yearn for them, even. But I understand that there are advantages to having a settled companion."

"When your dæmons settle, you know who you are," Lennox said simply. Then, prompted by a nip from Sidney, he asked, "How 'bout you? Do you guys ever think about your—er, youngling, was it?—your youngling years?"

Ironhide gave a deliberate shake of the head. "No. All Cybertronians look forward to the day they are given their armour, the day they are allowed to use their weaponry. We yearn for the day we become protectors. And when that day comes, we do not look back."

"There are advantages to growing up in all cultures, I guess," Lennox said, leaning backwards. Sidney gave a small tail wag. "I think it's a pretty fair trade-off."

"Yes, it is." Ironhide stretched again. "When your progeny's companion was inside me…" Ironhide said absently, as though to himself. He had a hand over what Lennox assumed was his spark casing. He didn't finish the sentence.

Sidney rubbed against him, her eyes half-closed. The captain and his dæmon were filled with a deep curiosity. "Is it…bad?" he asked, not knowing exactly how to describe the great taboo. "I mean, for Autobots to touch the sparks of other Autobots?"

Ironhide was silent for a long time, so long that Lennox thought that he didn't hear him. "For a warrior to touch an enemy's spark is one of the foulest things that can happen on the battlefield," Ironhide finally said. "For a friend to entrust his spark to another friend…to Autobots, that is the greatest form of trust imaginable."

Lennox's eyes widened, and Sidney gave a tremor in his arms. They knew now what Sam and Mikaela knew.

Annabelle's cry pierced through the silence.

"Go to your progeny," Ironhide said, in what Lennox thought was a sort of rough tenderness. "She is calling for you."

Lennox rose, Sidney close beside him. No, they weren't ready for contact yet. But one day, they would be.

"Goodnight," Lennox said. Sidney gave a decisive bark. Ironhide was already facing away from them, facing the setting sun.

"Goodnight," Ironhide said.

Lennox turned to answer his child's summons, and Sidney gave a final glance at their solitary guardian, before following him into the house.


	3. Bumblebee

**Disclaimer: **Transformers; do not own. His Dark Materials/Golden Compass; do not own.

**Summary: **Semi-crossover; oneshot series. Bumblebee; If any of the Autobots ask, Bumblebee will lie and say that his first memory file is of Optimus carrying him off the battlefield.

**Timeline: **Set after Sam's oneshot, but before Lennox's.

**Author note: **I hate this crossover bunny. I really do. I can't outrun it!

**Warnings: **Liberties; many liberties.

* * *

After

**Bumblebee**

It had been a few weeks since Mission City. There was still a government frenzy going on in the background, covering up the fact that they were not alone in the universe, and there were still plenty of questions and too little answers. However, things were winding down. Sam and his family were home. Sam and Mikaela had started going back to school. While Optimus, Ratchet, and a newly fixed Jazz were at the makeshift Autobot base, Ironhide had opted to stay with the Lennoxes.

Bumblebee had officially moved in with the Witwickies.

It was well into the afternoon, and the Autobot had just driven Sam home from the lake. He could see the boy from the kitchen window, probably procrastinating on that school assignment, and chugging milk straight from the carton as his cougar dæmon half-heartedly and gently wrestled with Mojo.

When Bumblebee had first landed on earth, he had thought that dæmons were pets of sorts, something like the symbiotes of Cybertron. It didn't take him very long to realize that calling dæmons pets was akin to calling sparks spare parts. After that, he had then thought that the bond between humans and dæmons were like the bonds that existed between twins—between spark-split individuals. That idea had stayed with him up until he had finally found Sam.

Now, after watching Sam and Tristanne for a few weeks, Bumblebee knew that spark-splitting wasn't the answer. A split spark became two different beings. One only had to look at Prowl to see that. When Bumblebee looked at Sam and Tristanne, he didn't see two sparks split into two; he saw a single spark, split but not completely so. In each of them, there was a half-spark, and only together were they whole.

The idea filled Bumblebee with dread. Though the afternoon sun warmed his metal armour, there was a coldness that comes from his spark and seems to fill his very processor, shell, and core.

Bumblebee didn't feel lonely often. He had been found by the Autobots when he was only a few vorns old, so he was almost always surrounded by comrades and companions. Even if he was alone, Ironhide or Jazz or someone else was always just a radio call away. And even if his communications were down and he was lost in someplace, he didn't feel lonely either; oftentimes, a soldier's life was to be alone.

And yet, it was only here in the midst of almost normalcy and in the midst of calm, it was only after the whole running-for-your-lives bit did some form of loneliness set in.

_Judy comes around from the backyard, pulling off her gardening gloves. Her stellar jay, who Bumblebee has recently learned is called Caedmon, is perched on her shoulder. She smiles at Bumblebee, and Caedmon chirps a greeting, and she turns to go into the house. She pauses, and turns around, her brow wrinkled. Caedmon tilts his head questioningly, his black dewdrop eyes glinting as he gazed piercingly at Bumblebee._

"_Are you alright, Bumblebee? You seem…out of sorts," Judy says. _

_Bumblebee starts, wondering how a seemingly insentient car could look out of sorts. _

"_I'm fine, Mrs. Witwicky."_

_Judy smiles gently, and Caedmon gives a low, soothing tone. "Oh, enough of that. Call me Judy."_

"_I apologize. Thank-you, Judy. I assure you that I'm perfectly fine."_

_Bumblebee can tell by Cademon's ruffled feathers that Judy is unsatisfied, but she just smiles in a motherly, sad kind of way._

"_Well, if you need anything, don't hesitate to call."_

"_Alright. Thank-you."_

Bumblebee was found alone. He was rescued from a battlefield, the only life amidst the dead mechs, femmes, and cassettes. Bright sparks that had faded long before their time, faded and drifted away, like atoms of smoke.

If any of the Autobots ask, Bumblebee will lie and say that his first memory file is of Optimus carrying him off that battlefield. His questioners would not have been surprised at his answer, though Cybertronian sparklings were not at all like human babies, and though he was still a sparkling, he should have had plenty of memory files in storage.

However, Bumblebee had been sparked at a time when parts for protoforms and sparklings and younglings were becoming rare. Thus it was expected that he would only have a very few memories before Ratchet had installed a proper memory system. The fact that he could remember Optimus rescuing him at all was amazing by Autobot standards.

But, despite what the other Autobots thought and despite what the mech himself wanted to believe sometimes, Bumblebee did remember a before. He did remember a time where the arms that held him weren't those of Optimus or Ironhide or Ratchet.

He remembered two protoform pods. His creator had been ecstatic. The Lord High Protector, the one who allowed mechs and femmes and cassettes access to the Allspark and thus to sparklings, had finally granted him an audience.

He remembered two small beings, a mech and a cassette. They were small, just slightly taller than the average male human. Many sparklings were, since the time that the Allspark stopped functioning correctly was followed by the time that parts were becoming rarer and rarer. Cybertron's cycle of metal and forge, of which the Allspark was as integral part, just wasn't working properly anymore.

He remembered holding them in arms devoid of armour. Bumblebee had been the first to hold them. They were all just sparklings, then. His creator told him that his siblings were twins—beings who were split from one spark.

His creator told him that he was their guardian.

_The sound of a garage door opening pulls Bumblebee from his musings. Ron has returned from work. He stays in his car for a moment, talking softly to his dæmon. He gets out of his car, and instead of going through the garage door adjoining the house, he passes by Bumblebee on his way to the front door. _

"_You okay?" he asks. Ron's expression is carefully guarded, and the dæmon on his shoulder isn't giving anything away. Like Ron's trust, the badger's name is something that Bumblebee has not yet earned._

"_I'm fine, Mr. Witwicky," Bumblebee says._

_Ron looks like he is about to say more, but the badger whispers something in his ear, and the man nods. He is not yet familiar with Bumblebee, though he had been living with them for a few consecutive days now. Ron is not awkward about many things, but talking to the alien robot in his driveway is one of them._

"_Goodnight, then," Ron says, turning to go into the house. The badger gives Bumblebee a long, blank look over Ron's shoulder._

"_Goodnight."_

He remembered his creator…not exactly crying, but wailing in pain. Bumblebee remembered being scared, because he had thought that his creator was the strongest mech on the planet. Looking back at it, Bumblebee realized that it wasn't physical pain. The pain that his creator felt came from his spark.

He remembered his creator trying to explain to him that there was something different about his siblings. Even before his creator told him, Bumblebee knew already. Capslock didn't like changing into alt-mode, whereas Backspace didn't like changing into bipedal-mode. Capslock was a chatter bug, but Backspace was silent, preferring action and gestures over words. No matter what form Bumblebee was in, either Capslock or Backspace would hate being touched. They seemed absolutely riddled with glitches, and his creator would wail, spark pulsating with confusion.

His creator told him that his siblings weren't twins after all. They weren't single mechs either. They were something in between.

Like the humans and their dæmons were.

_Bumblebee wakes with a start. He hadn't known that he had gone into stand-by mode. The sun has set already, and darkness looms heavily over the suburban town._

_Quickly, he scans Sam's bedroom. The boy is still there. _

_Another wave of panic overtakes him, and he scans again. Yes, Tristanne is still there too. The boy and his dæmon are curled up with one another, as they should be._

_Bumblebee calls Jazz, who, that night, was assigned to watch Mikaela. "What's up, little buddy?" Jazz asks._

"_Where's Mikaela?" Bumblebee can hear Jazz's surprise. He hears a faint humming sound, noiseless to human ears as Jazz, caught off and unnerved by Bumblebee's tone, scans Mikaela's bedroom._

"_In her room," Jazz says, relief evident in his tone. _

"_And Adair?"_

"_Who?"_

"_Her dæmon," Bumblebee supplies impatiently. Jazz scans again._

"_With her, of course."_

"_Oh." Bumblebee feels ashamed now, for being so panicked. Of course they were okay. They were safe and sound, and, most importantly, whole. "Thanks, Jazz."_

"_No problem, little buddy." Bumblebee knows by Jazz's tone that he was worried about him, and Bumblebee cuts off the line, hoping that Jazz will leave it until the morning. _

The war broke out when the half-twins were barely a vorn old. Bumblebee did have a memory of how they got separated from their creator. It was buried, deep within other files. Bumblebee thought about it sometimes, wondering when the file will open. Part of him wished that it would, the other hoped it wouldn't.

He remembered holding his siblings closely. "Where are we going?" Backspace had asked. Bumblebee remembered those words clearly, because they were one of the only things that Backspace had said to anyone but Capslock. Bumblebee didn't remember what he answered.

Bumblebee didn't remember what happened next. He just knows that, somehow, he was separated from his siblings. And he was found alone.

Bumblebee was a soldier, but he did feel lonely sometimes. He felt ashamed, because he was found alone, and that could only mean that he had failed his siblings as a guardian, and as a brother. When he thought of his lost siblings, there was an ache inside him, a void where his spark should have been. And Bumblebee knew how his creator felt.

"_Bumblebee?"_

"_Sam?" The boy makes his way to the Autobot, banging and tripping over every thing possible, and completely missing the path. Tristanne is close behind, stopping him from falling backwards completely._

"_What's with the light show?" he asks groggily, squinting in the darkness. Tristanne staggers beside him, her eyes half-closed._

"_Oh. Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you."_

_Sam rubs his eyes, and Tristanne shakes her head, trying to fend off sleep. "Are you okay?"_

"_Of course. Why wouldn't I be?"_

_Sam places a warm hand on his hood. His eyes are open now, and he regards Bumblebee with a small frown on his face. Tristanne hesitates, then gives Bumblebee's door a small, quick rub before curling around Sam's legs. Sam doesn't say anything, but he opens Bumblebee's rear doors, and climbs in. Tristanne is a heartbeat after him._

"_Sam?"_

"_Shhh…less talking, more sleeping," he orders softly. Tristanne gives a low purr, her vibrations almost tickling Bumblebee. Bumblebee can't help but feel…comforted._

Bumblebee was a soldier, but he did feel lonely sometimes. He felt ashamed, because he was found alone, and that could only mean that he had failed his siblings as a guardian, and as a brother. When he thought of his lost siblings, there was an ache inside him, a void where his spark should have been.

He doubted that the feeling will ever go away. But now, with a tiny spark resting easily and trustingly inside him, the pain was a little less unbearable.


	4. Jazz

**Disclaimer: **Transformers; do not own. His Dark Materials/Golden Compass; do not own.

**Summary: **Semi-crossover; oneshot series. Jazz; There were very few times in his life that Jazz regretted proclaiming himself as a great cultural expert (no matter how true it was). This was one of the times.

* * *

After

**Jazz**

In Jazz's opinion, Autobots had impeccable timing. It had been just a few weeks since Mission City, and already more surviving Autobots had started to trickle in. Prowl and his group, which consisted of Red Alert, Sideswipe, Sunstreaker, and Bluestreak, had already been on Earth for a few days.

They had told the incoming Autobots about the doubly-occurring creatures around them, but the bond that existed between human and dæmon was hard to describe. Optimus, Ratchet, and Ironhide were of little help; the humans and their dæmons were very new to them as well. Even Bumblebee, an earth veteran for five years, was at a loss.

So they had looked to Jazz to send a quick explanation. Jazz had told the incomers that they were heading for a planet full of spark-split twins.

That had received a shocked silence in reply, at least until Bluestreak came into the room.

Twins were exceedingly rare in Cybertron. Even in the golden age, less than one percent of the population consisted of spark-split Cybertronians, or so Jazz was told, since he was sparked long after the golden age was finished. Now with their population so severely decimated, Jazz knew only of two pairs of twins: Sideswipe and Sunstreaker were one.

No mech talked about the other pair.

Bluestreak was all smiles and introductions and "Hey how're you doing my name's Bluestreak it's really nice to meet you," and other characteristic things like that. Sunstreaker and Sideswipe were openly mocking and condescending, not bothering to be polite to the hosts of their new home. Red Alert was all business, and Prowl was polite, but stoic and serious, as per usual.

But underneath Bluestreak's easy-going attitude, underneath Sunstreaker and Sideswipe's pride, underneath Red Alert's suspicion, and underneath Prowl's severity, they were uneasy.

Bluestreak was awed by his host family, in particular one of Lennox's men, who had fought alongside the captain in Mission City. Jared Blake was a blind gunner, but, like most visually impaired people, his dæmon had excellent vision. By now, Jazz was quite used to the seeing the man walk calmly from corridor to corridor in the Autobot base, his peregrine falcon on his shoulder sometimes flying, sometimes on his shoulder, seeing for the both of them. It was a concept that seemed to have Bluestreak somewhat floored.

Red Alert's paranoia seemed to be worse than normal. In particular, he was always interested in where the dæmons were, and became distressed quite easily when a dæmon was out of sight. Jazz knew that, for this reason, Red Alert seemed to have developed an unhealthy suspicion of a still-healing Fig.

Prowl was…well, he was being Prowl. Truth be told, the humans in general, and Sam and Mikaela in particular, were more wary of Prowl than they were of the twins, and it wasn't Prowl who had tried to prank them on their first introduction. Jazz still didn't know why.

And for all their mocking and condescension, Jazz knew that Sideswipe and Sunstreaker were a bit afraid of the humans. Not afraid of their strength, which, in Jazz's opinion, the twins grossly underestimate, nor afraid of their delicacy. Jazz can't really put a name to the twins' fear. He just knows that it is similar to his own.

They had told Prowl and the others that the humans and their dæmons were like Cybertronian twins, but now, Jazz knew that that was a lie. Something cold seemed to seep into his spark as he remembered Cybertron's half-children.

The newcomers looked at Optimus, Ratchet, Ironhide, and Bumblebee for clues as to how to behave. But, mostly, they looked at Jazz. They would come into Jazz's office and bombard him with a lot of questions, often forgetting half the answers and coming in again not an hour later to ask the same things. Jazz was pretty sure that Bluestreak was sincere in his intentions, no matter how clumsy his execution. He also knew that Sidewsipe and Sunstreaker don't really care about understanding the humans, but use this situation to pester him. Red Alert asked only to make sure that the humans can't use their dæmons to spy on 'Autobot military secrets,' and Prowl…well, Prowl was a rare visitor.

There were very few times in his life that Jazz regretted proclaiming himself as a great cultural expert (no matter how true it was). This was one of the times.

"So they're like sparks?" Bluestreak asked. This would be the fifth time he asked that day.

"Not exactly, but you get the idea, Blue. So don't touch 'em. Just don't. They hate that," Jazz answered.

"But Bumblebee does," Bluestreak protested. "Sam and Mikaela and their dæmons ride in him all the time, and Will comes in with Ironhide, and—"

"That's because Sam and Mikaela—" _trust _was the actual word, but Bluestreak was already looking pretty hurt. Jazz gave an internal sigh. _And to think that Blue is ten vorns older than Bumblebee…_ "_know _Bumblebee," Jazz finally said.

"Oh, well, that makes a lot of sense. Come to think of it, this is kinda silly of me, being all sensitive or whatnot, since they've just met me…" He was out of Jazz's office even before his ridiculously long sentence ended.

Red Alert came in seconds after Bluestreak exited. He didn't even bother to say hello.

"So you are absolutely certain that the humans cannot separate more than a few yards from their symbiotes?"

"_Dæmons, _Red, and yes, I'm sure." Jazz thought of himself as a pretty easy-going mech, friendly and approachable and whatnot, but all this nonsense was really getting to him.

"So they can't send them into the vents or into our offices?"

"No, Red."

"Good. It's hard enough keeping out Decepticon symbiotes…" He was out the door before Jazz could correct him.

Jazz locked his door before the twins could come in. He sat on his desk and sighed, bemusedly thinking that coming back online almost wasn't worth all _this. _

"Tough day at the office?"

Jazz blinked. He took off his visors, wiped them, put them on, and blinked again.

"Epps!" The human was looking at him, sitting on a pile of unread data pads, his golden eagle dæmon perched haphazardly on his shoulder. "How did you get here?"

"Vents," Epps answered smilingly, jabbing his thumb upward. Kendra serenely preened herself. It was at least a fifteen feet jump.

"How did you…" The sergeant and his dæmon looked up at him innocently. "You know what? I really don't want to know. But may I ask, why?"

"Giving Red the run around. Don't want his paranoia to be unfounded, after all," Epps answered, snickering. Kendra gave a gleeful little cackle, spreading her wings and moving from shoulder to shoulder. "Something bugging you?"

"Same old, same old."

"Hey," Epps said, spreading his hands. Kendra jumped over to rest on his thigh. "You're the cultural expert."

"Stop remindin.'"

"Just sayin' that you brought this upon yourself, is all."

"Thank-you, Epps."

"No problem, my fine visored friend."

"I just didn't think it'd be so hard."

"Really?"

"No. I'm lying."

"Hey, we're smushing two races together. 'Course it's gonna be hard." Kendra launched herself from Epps' thigh, and circled around Jazz before coming to rest back on her human's arm. For some reason, Jazz had a distinct impression of a pat on the back.

Epps was silent for a while, stroking Kendra's feathers, before finally saying, "Your vents, by the way, are death traps."

"You mean Red Alert's alarms?" Jazz asked, surprised. It seemed to be an Autobot curse that the alarms in the vents never worked. So if they had actually worked…

Epps and his dæmon looked up at the lieutenant in silence, before they both burst out in laughter. "No," Epps managed to choke out. Kendra was still laughing. "Those puny things? They were easy to avoid. I'm talking about the paint buckets and chewing gum wads."

"The twins set their traps already?"

"Looks like it," Epps said, recovering himself as Kendra managed to stop laughing. He froze, and her feather's ruffled, as they heard Red Alert's distinctive complaining voice seeping through Jazz's door. He seemed to be cursing Epps' very name and existence. "Damn! Your man works fast!"

"Hence the name," Jazz said bemusedly. "You want to hide out for a while?"

"Nah, he'll find us if we're in one place too long. Would you mind giving me a lift?"

"Not at all." Epps jumped onto Jazz's outstretched hand, and he lifted him to the vent opening, Kendra flying and circling him.

As Epps crawled into the vent, to Jazz's surprise, Kendra landed for a moment on his upraised thumb. "Thanks, man," Epps said, his face peering out from the opening. Kendra gave a short bow, before flying off to join Epps.

Jazz didn't recover soon enough, and Epps and his dæmon were long gone before he could form a response.

"Well, we're getting there, slowly," Jazz said to what he thought was an empty room.

"Worth coming back online for after all?" asked a new voice.

Jazz jumped, and turned to face Prowl, standing on the other side of the desk.

"Prowl!" Jazz looked. Yes, this was Prowl. And yes, his door was still locked. "But how did you…?"

"Vents," Prowl said simply, jabbing his thumb to a small opening on the other side of the room. It was half the width of his torso.

There was silence.

"You know what? I don't wanna know," Jazz said, in a rare moment of defeat. He slumped down in his chair.

"Indeed."

"Well? I'm assumin' that you have questions?"

"Not a question, in so much as a statement."

"When did you get so crytpical?"

"This is what you get for leaving me with Sergeant Spazz, Terror Twins, and Blabbermouth for eons on end," Prowl said. Jazz detected the smallest hint of a smirk.

"Ouch. And you've gotten pretty bitter, too."

"Indeed." Prowl suddenly sobered. "Our hosts…you told us that they were like spark-split twins, Jazz."

"Well, yeah. That's the only way I knew how to put it."

"There was a closer description."

"Well, would you guys have come if I put it _that _way?"

There was a heavy silence. Jazz could still hear Red Alert cursing Epps' existence, and he could hear said human and his dæmon gleefully dodging traps by the twins and jumping over Red Alert's futilely installed alarms. "No," Prowl said, "no, probably not."

"Exactly. But you see, Prowl, it's _expected _for them. Normal, even. No, not even that. It's the thing that makes 'em human. There's nothing wrong."

"I suppose we're getting there, then," Prowl said finally. Jazz could have sworn that Prowl's door-wings wilted a little as Red Alert gained in volume. "There are still many things to learn," Prowl added, almost as an afterthought, as he left Jazz's office presumably to stop Red from tearing apart the newly built Autobot base.

_Yes, we are getting there, _Jazz thought, leaning back in his chair, unconsciously rubbing the part of his arm where Kendra had touched him. For some reason, even with the memories of Cybertron's half-children looming over him, he kind of felt warm and fuzzy inside. _Two steps forward and one step back, but we're getting there. _


	5. Ratchet

**Disclaimer: **Transformers; do not own. His Dark Materials/Golden Compass; do not own.

**Summary: **Oneshot, semi-crossover. Ratchet was a medic. He was supposed to make mechs and femmes and cassettes better and send them on their way.

* * *

After

**Ratchet**

If one were to talk to Jazz, Ironhide, and even Optimus, they would say that the war began when Megatron, leader of the Decepticons, betrayed them. Though this was true in one way of thinking, Ratchet knew better. In many ways, Ratchet saw war as a kind of disease. With an immune system that was strong enough, an invading pathogen did not ravage the body. In a healthy, functioning, and united world, war did not spread, enslave, and consume.

The truth was that though Megatron may have been the breaking point and the outcome, Cybertron herself sowed the seeds of war in soil fertile with fear and water rich in sorrow. But no one would admit to that; it was not in them to blame their children, and they would be sent to the fiery realms of the Pit before they ever blamed the Allspark.

Ratchet had been a medic's apprentice, and as such, followed his mentor to all sparkings. He probably spent more time around the Allspark than the Lord High Protector. As time went on, more half-sparks were produced. No matter how advanced the programming or how well thought-out the design, there was something inherently wrong with the half-sparks, and this flaw infected the resulting mechs, femmes, and cassettes.

The humans were so like the half-sparks, and yet thankfully, joyously, beautifully different.

_Ratchet works to organize his newly built work area into something that actually resembles a med-bay. He opens up a gigantic cupboard, puts in some items, closes the cupboard, and then turns to his table. He pauses, optics shuttering a few times, and then turns around, opening the cupboard again._

"_Samuel? What are you doing in there?" The boy is sitting, back resting against a giant bottle full of metallic patches that functioned both as an antiseptic and a band-aid for Autobots. Only a few weeks with the twins, and already Ratchet had gone through five bottles. His dæmon is curled up beside him, and greets Ratchet with a dip of her head._

"_Extreme hide-and-go-seek with Bumblebee," Sam says with a smile. One hand is on top of Tristanne's head, stroking her gently. Her eyes are half-closed, and she purrs softly. _

"_Hide and go seek?" Ratchet repeats, baffled._

"_Extreme," Sam reminds him. Ratchet scoffs._

"_What's so extreme about hiding in my medicine cabinet?" Sam rolls his eyes, and Tristanne gives a quiet laugh._

"_Well it was extreme getting up here, let me tell you that," he says. Ratchet thinks about that. The cupboard was stories off the ground, and several feet above the countertop below it. Come to think of it, how had they __**opened **__the cupboard door in the first place?_

"_I don't want to know the finer details of your foolish escapade," he declares, automatically scanning the miscreants to check for any injuries-due-to-stupidity. He notices that the boy tenses and his dæmon stops purring, but they stay still for the scan. At Sam's request, he closes the door again, leaving a crack so that the boy and his dæmon could breathe._

The Allspark had been malfunctioning. No one wanted to admit it back then and even right now, but like an obsolete program, the Allspark was malfunctioning.

The little earth-made 'cons were half-sparks. They had not lasted more than a human's quarter-year. The Autobots had found their bodies.

To make matters worse, the Allspark's malfunction was almost immediately followed by a parts shortage. Earth had the circle of life. Cybertron had a cycle of recycling. Drones harvested the spires and the metallic terrains for parts, soldering them on and grafting them on themselves and progeny in order to pass on programming as humans passed on genes. The Cybertronians, in turn, hunted down drones to use their parts and metal for their repairs and for their sparklings. And when drones and Cybertronians passed on, their parts were returned to Cybertron, melted down in her core to return as spires and metallic terrain.

The half-sparks were weak. There were questions. Should they be using parts when the Allspark was not working? Should they be using parts for sparklings who died so quickly when parts were needed elsewhere for repairs? What was ethical? What was right?

It was, all in all, not a good time to be a medic.

_Ratchet sighs, wondering why of all places, Sam and Tristanne had to choose his medicine cabinet as a hiding place, even though there was the little detail that Bumblebee couldn't reach the cabinet door…Well, whatever! Ratchet still had a med-bay to clean up. _

_Taking some more tools and analogous surgical utensils, he opens up a drawer. He had closed the drawer when he realizes that he had caught a glimpse of faded blue jeans and jet black fur._

_He opens the drawer again. Mikaela and Adair look up innocently at him._

"_What are you doing in there?" he demands._

"_Extreme hide-and-go-seek with Bumblebee," Mikaela answers sweetly. Adair stretches luxuriously before pressing his head against her hand._

"_Hide-and-go-seek?" Ratchet repeats, baffled._

"_Extreme," she says pointedly._

_Ratchet sighs again. He hasn't adopted a lot of human mannerisms, but he finds sighing so very useful._

"_What's so extreme about hiding in my drawers?" he demands._

_Mikaela and Adair chuckle. "Well, it was extreme getting in here, let me tell you that," Mikaela finally says. Ratchet thinks about this. The drawer was several feet off the ground, and how in the universe had they __**opened **__the slagging thing in the first place?_

"_I do not want to know," he declares, automatically scanning the miscreants to check for any injuries-due-to-stupidity. Mikaela blinks in surprise and Adair gives a displeased growl, but they are otherwise still for the examination. At Mikaela's request, Ratchet closes the drawer again, leaving a crack so that the girl and her dæmon could breathe._

The half-sparks were loved by the mechs and femmes and cassettes that made their bodies and programmed their processors, but they were shunned by the rest of society. Ratchet always thought it curious, and he knew that Perceptor had found it morbidly fascinating, that their race would almost worship spark-split Cybertronians (which didn't help in Sunstreaker and Sideswipe's vanity in the least), and yet be so afraid of the half-sparks.

Their fear stemmed from the fact that they could not understand. Ratchet, being an Autobot medic, was not quite like human doctors. Human doctors were quite used to seeing 'sick' humans, humans that were different because it was the way that the humans had been born. For a race and indeed an entire world based on genes and chance, slight malfunctions and glitches were a normal, accepted, and sometimes surprisingly joyous part of society. If malfunctions and glitches didn't occur, then evolution would not take place.

But Ratchet was used to dealing with a race who complained of missing parts or paintjob scratches or cannon back-ups. Malfunctions and glitches occurred, but they could be removed through proper programming and virus screens. They weren't supposed to be ingrained in the very spark.

The human race had been and still was strange to him, and sometimes inexplicably saddening. Yet, though there were similarities, there were so many things that reminded him that humans and their dæmons may have been half-sparks, but were not like Cybertron's half-sparks.

Maybe that was the basis of Sunstreaker and Sideswipe's deeper-than-normal scorn, Prowl's farther-than-normal distance, and Ratchet's own unease.

_Shaking his head, Ratchet turns, and his optics shutter once in surprise. Ironhide was standing at the doorway._

"_What have you done now?" he demands._

"_Shoulder cannon not working," Ironhide grunts reluctantly. "Can't reach it. I think it's stuck or clogged or something."_

_Ratchet looks up once, trying for patience._

"_Let me take a look," he says. He takes Ironhide's cannon and looks into the nozzle. His optics open in surprise, and he turns away, shaking his head._

"_What's the matter, doc?" Ironhide demands. "Tell me. I can take it."_

"_I know why your cannon isn't working," Ratchet says grimly. Then he grabs Ironhide's cannon again, glaring into the nozzle. "Miles!" The boy and his capuchin monkey dæmon look at Ratchet smilingly, Miles crouched inside the barrel of Ironhide's gun, Delaney on his shoulder with her tail wrapped around his neck. Ironhide is simply stunned. "What are you doing in there?" Ratchet continues. "No, wait, don't tell me—"_

"_Extreme hide-and-go-seek with Bumblebee," Miles and Ratchet say in unison, the boy cheerfully and the medic tiredly._

"_Hide-and-go-seek?" Ironhide asks, enraged._

"_Extreme," Miles repeats, Delaney peeking out to give Ironhide two thumbs up._

"_What's so extreme about hiding in my plasma cannon?" Ironhide demands. Ratchet gives him a blank look. "What?"_

_Ratchet barely restrains himself from banging a few heads against the table._

As first a medic's apprentice and then as a medic, Ratchet saw many half-sparks. Each of his patients, sometimes occurring in two bodies and sometimes in one, was engrained in his very processor.

He remembered the sparklings of Optimus and Elita. They had not been allowed to touch them when they were first sparked. Ratchet's mentor and then Ratchet himself had been the first to touch them.

They were so tiny, as most sparklings were by that time. The poor things had not lasted a vorn.

Whatever whispers there were of Optimus tampering with the Allspark, whatever suspicions any desperate and ignorant Cybertronians had about their Prime, they had died along with Optimus' sparklings.

When the war broke out, the already weak half-sparks were the first to fall. Though they were more numerous than real twins and sometimes single mechs in some places, in the third vorn of the war, all the half-sparks were gone.

_Ratchet, having removed a certain boy and his dæmon from a certain weapons specialist's shoulder cannon, allowed himself to relax at his seat._

_Sam and Tristanne were hiding in his cupboard._

_Mikaela and Adair were inside his drawer._

_Miles and Delaney were inside __**him. **_

"_Hi, Ratchet," Bumblebee greets, coming into his med-bay. "Have you seen Sam, Mikaela, or Miles around?"_

_Ratchet looks at him, and replies with a simple, "No."_

"_Oh, okay," Bumblebee says, disappointed but trusting. "Thanks, Ratch," he says, going off to look elsewhere. _

"_He's gone. I think you win," Ratchet says, unamused, to the room. There is no answer. Alarmed, he pulls open the cupboard door. Sam is fast asleep, with one hand resting on top of Tristanne's fur._

_He pulls open the drawer. Mikaela was also asleep, her head resting against Adair._

_He does an internal scan. Miles is asleep inside him, he and Delaney curled up with one another._

_Ratchet debates whether or not to call back Bumblebee to tell him to take his elusive quarry back to their quarters for some proper rest, but then decides against it. He gathers them in his arms, taking Sam and Mikaela out gently and gently ejecting Miles, making sure to pay heed to the great taboo. They shift position a little, and their dæmons do not wake._

_Ratchet takes them to their quarters, making a mental note to tell a still-searching Bumblebee that his game was postponed._

_He also made a mental note to put "Extreme hide-and-go-seek" on the black list._

The humans shifted in his left arm, pressing against his spark-chamber in their search for warmth. In his right arm, their dæmons curled up with one another, a tangle of tawny limbs and black fur sandwiching a happily sleeping capuchin monkey.

Ratchet was a medic. He was supposed to make mechs and femmes and cassettes better and send them on their way.

But, he thought as his spark warmed a little, it was neither possible nor right to fix what wasn't broken.


	6. Miles

**Disclaimer:** Transformers; do not own. His Dark Materials/Golden Compass; do not own.

**Summary:** Semi-crossover; oneshot series. Miles; Sam and Mikaela are incredibly wary of Prowl, and Miles knows that it is because of their dæmons' intense hatred and fear of Barricade.

* * *

After

**Miles**

It had been a couple of months since Mission City. There was still a government frenzy going on in the background, covering up the fact that they were not alone in the universe, and there were still plenty of questions and too little answers. Things were starting to get exciting. Prowl's group, which consisted of Red Alert, Sunstreaker, Sideswipe, Bluestreak, and Prowl himself, had recently arrived on Earth.

The humans were very curious to see the twins. From what Jazz had told them, it was among the closest things that Autobots had to humans and their dæmons.

None of the humans saw the forced cheer at which Jazz said the words. They would have asked him about it, but how could he have told them about the half-sparks?

But soon, curiosity turned to exasperation and something that bordered disgust. Sunstreaker and Sideswipe weren't friendly towards the humans; none of the Autobots, even Optimus, expected them to be at first. But they were surprised at the degree of almost hostility they showed. Sideswipe had taken on Sunstreaker's usual surly countenance when the humans entered the room with their dæmons always by their side, and Sunstreaker attained a whole new level of don't-come-near-me-or-I-will-squish-you.

However, the humans weren't concerning themselves over the twins. It was mutual indifference; they would act as though the twins were not in the room, and the twins would act likewise. It was tense, but peaceful, as long no one in either party had to talk to one another.

Not exactly an ideal relationship, but where the twins were concerned, you kind of had to be happy with what you got.

No, all the humans, right down to Miles, weren't happy with the twins, but it was Prowl who had, somehow, earned their collective wariness, and Mikaela's downright hatred.

Miles couldn't really approve of her hatred, but Delaney couldn't blame her. Not after a certain run-in with a certain 'con.

In Miles' opinion, the situation was further worsened by the fact that the Autobots refused to talk to them about it.

They were in the Autobot rec room. Miles, Sam, Mikaela, and Bumblebee were present. They had just spent a good five minutes of tense silence as Prowl came in for a break in-between shifts, drinking his energon cube slowly while reviewing data pads. He probably got the idea that he wasn't welcome, because he excused himself and then went away.

Miles hated to admit it, but, as he watched the stoic tactician go, he kind of felt relieved…and ashamed. He held Delaney tighter to his heart, and she smoothed out his shirt comfortingly.

"So…" Sam said to Bumblebee. He was sitting down on the table before his guardian, somewhere near his arm, with Tristanne's head and forepaws on his knee and Mikaela sitting beside him. Though Sam had spoken in an easy-going, casual tone, Miles noticed that Tristanne was not purring. On the contrary, her muscles were tensed, and her fur was raised, and she kept getting out of her position, walking in a tight circle around Sam and Mikaela and Adair, looking around, before settling in again.

Mikaela wasn't looking up. She was saying something softly to her dæmon, who was hiding his tension just a little bit better than Tristanne. He mirrored Tristanne's pose, with his head and forepaws on the knee of his human, but he remained in that position while Tristanne paced anxiously, coming up to him every so often to give him a comforting lick before returning to Sam. His eyes were half-closed, and he was doing that low-growly thing that he did when Mikaela really felt like hitting something.

"Yes, Sam?" Bumblebee said in the same light tone, though he had doubtless noticed his charges' distress.

"Ah…well…" Tristanne rubbed her head against his thigh, and he put a hand on her tawny head. With his other hand, he made a nervous gesture in the air.

"You said that twins were rare in Cybertron, right?" Mikaela said tightly, looking up at Bumblebee. Her arms were clamped around her dæmon, and Adair's growl became a little bit more audible.

"He better not lie to them," Miles muttered. He was on the same table that Bumblebee was sitting at, but a little to the side, making a show of trying to put together…something. He and Delaney didn't quite know what they were putting together, but that they would know the exact moment when it was finished.

"If he does, he'll make things worse," Delaney said in his arms.

"Yes. Complete spark-splitting is a rare occurrence," Bumblebee answered.

"Complete?" Delaney repeated, catching onto the word. But none of the other dæmons noticed Bumblebee's strange specificity.

"Well…"

Miles sighed, and Delaney made a quiet sound of frustration. "They're never going to ask," Delaney told him. "We better do it."

"Is Prowl a twin?" Miles asked loudly. He blushed, and Delaney turned her face away, when all eyes and optics in the room turned to him. "Sorry," Miles said quietly. "That came out a lot louder than I wanted it to."

There was a pause. "No." Bumlbebee said finally. Sam and Mikaela clung to their dæmons, whose distress had reached a peak level. Miles looked away.

"Big mistake," Miles muttered to Delaney.

"But he probably wanted to protect Prowl."

"Just makes us even more nervous. If he told the truth, then at least it's out in the open. No more of this skulking behind the shadows thing."

"Just wish he'd spit it out."

Then Delaney tensed, seeing something, and Miles knew that Prowl was just outside the rec room door.

"He heard everything," Delaney said quietly.

"Probably," Miles whispered back. "But there's nothing we can do about that."

Miles and Sam were going to do a movie marathon that night. Since Mikaela's parents were out on a second honeymoon, her house was pretty empty, and she asked to join them. Bumblebee was supposed to join them too, but then he came up to them later that day and told them that Prowl was assigned as their temporary guardian until Bumblebee could join them. Apparently, Bumblebee had been called away on a scouting mission.

By the way that Tristanne was rubbing herself anxiously against Sam and the way that Adair was growling in Mikaela's arms again, Miles knew that Sam and Mikaela weren't buying the lie. He tried to keep Delaney still, so that at least _one _of them would give off an impression of calm.

However, even though they had their unreasonable misgivings, all three of them knew that it was Bumblebee's silent plea for them all to get along.

Later that night, Sam and Mikaela were asleep, curled up on Miles' couch with the television still tuned into a bad monster flick. Miles was resting against Sam's other side. On the floor in front of the couch, their dæmons were lying with one another. Delaney was sandwiched between the forepaws of the cougar and the jaguar dæmon.

Prowl was outside, in Miles' driveway, taking a temporary form of a civilian Saleen. He'd turn back to his cruiser form once he delivered them to Bumblebee in the morning.

"It's not fair," Miles said.

"No. But there are reasons," Delaney said. "After all, it wasn't _me _under Barricade's claw."

Miles had nothing to say to that. Mikaela would have been wary of Prowl already, but the fact that Barricade just—just—did _that _to Adair…It was too sick to think about.

"Sam's a good guy," Miles said, and Delaney gently stroked Tristanne's fur. "And I'm sure that he'd give Prowl a chance, even if Barricade scares the hell out of him…for Bumblebee, at least. Just that, he's stuck in between loyalties here."

"So I guess it's up to good old us to play peacemaker."

"Yep."

"It must be painful," Delaney said after awhile.

"It must be like your own dæmon hating you," Miles answered. He shuddered, and she wriggled herself free from her companions and crawled into his lap. "Must be lonely," he said absently.

She looked at him, leaped off, and scampered to the door. He followed.

"Good evening," Prowl said, his voice devoid of any emotion. "Why are you not recharging?"

"Because…I…kinda wanted to talk to you," Miles said, rushing the last few words. Delaney jumped into his arms.

"About?"

Here was his opportunity. Still, he couldn't come right out and say it. He had to segue smoothly into it.

"Are you and Barricade twins?"

Whoops.

Prowl was silent. Delaney started to whimper.

"I'm sorry," Miles muttered, going red. "I'll just—just—" he turned to go inside the house.

"Yes," Prowl said quietly. So quietly that Miles nearly didn't hear him. "Yes, we are."

"Oh." That was all he could say.

"You…are able to sense the bond between us?" Prowl asked carefully.

"Yeah…yeah, we all can. We can sense it through our dæmons. It's kind of like sensing the bond between a person and his dæmon. It's something that _is, _you know?"

Prowl was silent.

"It's kind of the reason why we've been avoiding you," he confessed. Delaney clung tightly to him, and both of them could feel each other's distress at what Miles was going to say—what he needed to say. "It's 'cuz we—and our dæmons, especially—can sense Barricade in you."

"I am not my brother," Prowl said firmly.

"No," Miles said, and Delaney whimpered in pity for this being. "No, you're not."

"Why are you telling me this?" Prowl asked, and Miles detected a hint of curiosity—and perhaps hope—in his tone.

"Just to tell you…to tell you that I'm not afraid anymore," Miles said, surprised by the boldness in his words. Delaney straightened in his arms.

"Thank-you, Miles," Prowl said finally.

Miles coughed uncomfortably, and Delaney jumped on his shoulder, wrapping her tail around his neck. He sat down on the front steps, regarding the Autobot in his driveway.

"Why a Saleen Mustang though?" he asked, hoping that Prowl didn't take it the wrong way. "I mean, of all the alt-forms…do you know that you scared the hell out of Sam when you first drove into the Autobot base? I swear, his dæmon jumped fifteen feet in the air…"

"It is the official model for police cruisers in Tranquility," Prowl answered. "To choose another form would draw too much attention." There was a pause, and then he said, "I did not realize that Barricade had chosen the same form…I apologize if the form is unsettling to you and to your companions."

"Nah, I'm good, and they'll get over it," Miles said easily. "Still, it would be more people-friendly if you chose another form, you know?"

"Could you give me an example?"

"Like a segway—you know, like at the mall." Delaney gave a nod of approval.

There was a pause, and the boy and his dæmon looked around curiously, because for some odd reason, there a faint noise of whirs and clicks and clangs pervaded the air.

"I do not think so, Miles," Prowl said evenly as the noises subsided.

Miles and Delaney looked at each other, and shrugged. Maybe the noises meant nothing.

"Why not? Authority, combined with friendliness, with a smidgen of hilarity. I think it'd make you more approachable-looking."

"Well," Prowl said, and the noises started again. Miles and Delaney looked around confusedly. "There are many things unacceptable with that form. Firstly, it cannot accommodate my size—"

"You can be a fifty-story tall one," Miles pointed out, quite adamant about the idea.

"Even though, I must—" The noises increased deafeningly now, and stopped abruptly.

"What was _that?_" Miles asked, looking at Delaney.

"Don't know," Delaney answered. "But it sounded like something was in great pain."

"Prowl? Prowl?" Miles asked, trying to get the now silent Autobot's attention.

Silence.

Miles and Delaney could feel each other's nervousness. She jumped off of Miles and approached Prowl.

Prowl didn't move.

"I think we might have broken his brain," Delaney whispered.

Quietly, Miles picked up his dæmon and went inside the house to call Ratchet.


	7. The Twins

**Disclaimer:** Transformers; do not own. His Dark Materials/Golden Compass; do not own.

**Summary:** Semi-crossover; oneshot series. The twins; Despite what every other mech on board might believe, Sideswipe and Sunstreaker don't actually hate the humans and their dæmons.

* * *

After

**Sideswipe and Sunstreaker**

_It had been a couple of months since Mission City. There was still a government frenzy going on in the background, covering up the fact that they were not alone in the universe, and there were still plenty of questions and too little answers. Things were starting to get exciting. Prowl's group, which consisted of Red Alert, Sunstreaker, Sideswipe, Bluestreak, and Prowl himself, had recently arrived on Earth._

_As the Autobots anticipated, the twins don't get along well with the humans. They had hoped that they would get along better, mostly because the human-dæmon bond was somewhat similar to the bond between Autobot twins, so they should have had some level of understanding right off the bat. They were disappointed, but not surprised, when that hope tumbled down. At best, the relationship between the humans and the twins was one of mutual indifference. Other times, the twins were rude, and condescending, and the humans' reaction was to be openly mocking._

_But despite what every other mech on board might have believed, Sideswipe and Sunstreaker didn't actually hate the humans and their dæmons. They didn't like them, but, where their human allies were concerned, they didn't hate them. _

_The truth was that they couldn't hate them._

_The twins knew that the humans reminded all the Autobots painfully of the half-sparks. They knew in the far-away, wistful looks, in the veiled tones of grief, and in the looks of absolute wonder as the Autobots looked upon a race where semi-spark splitting was not a norm, but an absolute rule._

_Yes, the twins knew. They knew better than anyone suspected about a lot of things. They felt it more acutely than they showed, too._

Sideswipe and Sunstreaker are in the Autobot rec room, drinking some high-grade while they're off-duty. Sideswipe has his chin on the table, bored, and Sunstreaker, reading a data-pad, couldn't care less.

Bumblebee walks in the room, one hand curled around Sam, and the other hand curled around his dæmon. The human looks surprised, his dæmon looks displeased, and Bumblebee looks petulant.

Bumblebee is angry with Sam. Huh. Now that's something you don't see everyday. Sideswipe gives the scene a bit of his attention—he's bored, and this is just a smidge more interesting than the high-grade at the bottom of his cube—but Sunstreaker ignores the newcomers.

"Come on, 'Bee," Sam says as Bumblebee puts him on a high shelf—high even by Autobot standards. "We didn't mean anything. It was just a comment."

His dæmon gives a huffy yowl as Bumblebee sets her down beside her human. "I'll be back later…maybe," Bumblebee says crossly, and exits the rec room. Sam looks after his retreating 'guardian,' with a look of pure indignation. His dæmon, for her part, growls audibly.

"What was that about?" Sam asks his dæmon when Bumblebee has gone.

"**Someone **got out of the wrong side of the recharge berth," the twins hear his dæmon say. Then, she notices that she and her human have an audience. Sam looks up.

"Oh. Hi," Sam says. Sideswipe gives a wave, already placing his chin on the table again, and Sunstreaker returns to his data-pad.

Sam looks carefully at the ground, several stories below him. He sits, legs dangling at the edge of the shelf, and his dæmon rests beside him. "You gonna offer to get us down?"

"Nope," they say.

"Figures."

_On the Autobot side of Cybertron, the half-sparks were cherished, pitied, taken care of, and feared only by those who did not have a half-spark for creations or bonded siblings or friends. That was the world that most of the Autobots knew. _

_Very few mechs knew this, and those that did would never dare say anything (if not because they actually cared, then because they were afraid of what the twins would do to them), but the twins were actually raised in a Decepticon area of Cybertron. _

_Sideswipe and Sunstreaker were actually treated very well on that side, even though both were of Autobot design. Twins were universally cherished on Cybertron, a cultural trait that many of their comrades blamed for their incessant vanity. _

_The paradox of Cybertron had always mystified them, in which where real twins were treated as though they were gifts straight from Primus, whilst the half-sparks might as well have been children of Unicron._

_However, they were not blind to the other side of things. They saw the half-sparks, often abandoned by their creators, cast out to live amongst the drones and treated less than the glitch-mice that scavenged the streets. _

_Though they had a deep pity for these beings, they were scared of the half-sparks for a long time as well, because in them they saw a twin-bond, twisted and mutilated almost beyond recognition. For a long time, they treated the half-sparks as though they were contagious._

_But then…then they met them. Two little femmes, mere sparklings that they had met by happenstance one orn, when they slipped away from their guardians to wreak havoc on the streets. _

_Those two half-sparks had treated them kindly, let them join in on their crude game._

_And then…then when the twins' guardians finally caught up to them, their friends were treated so cruelly. They weren't hit, they weren't yelled at; they were merely ignored, treated as though they didn't exist._

_And yet they still laughed._

_They always had a far-away look in their optics. They held a vague interest in everything, all the while focussing on nothing. They were small, weak, dented, and flawed. _

_They were kind._

_Sideswipe and Sunstreaker slipped away many more times, just to see them. They became friends. And when a scientist approached the twins, asking them to be studied so that they might find a way to split the half-sparks and make them into real twins, they had agreed without hesitation._

_They didn't do it for Cybertron. They didn't do it for Optimus, didn't do it for Megatron (who, at that moment in time, hadn't shown his tyrant-colours). They didn't do it for riches or glory or fame. Most of all, they did it for them. And, young and naïve, they believed that they could save them._

Sam is lying down, his legs still dangling from the edge of the shelf, with his dæmon resting her paws and head on his chest.

"What did you say to him?" Sideswipe asks. The cougar turns to regard the Autobot. The human lifts his head a bit.

"So the great Sideswipe deigns to lower himself and talk to the little people?" he asks in a sing-song tone that thinly veils his surprise. He has a right to be surprised; both twins usually ignored the humans.

"Don't push your luck, squishy," Sideswipe says with a glare. "So what did you say to him?"

Sam gives a careless half-shrug, and his dæmon plops her head back down on his chest. "Just made a passing observation that he's a bit shorter than the rest of the Autobots, that's all."

Sunstreaker scoffs. "So that's it? You called him short?"

"And maybe something about how he's pretty bulky for someone his size."

"So…not only did you call him short; you also called him fat," Sideswipe said.

Sam rose a little, facing them, and then opened his mouth, as if to retort, but then his took on a surprised expression and said, "I guess I did. Huh, how 'bout that?" He chuckles at this, and his dæmon rubs her head against him, chuckling too. "Looks like we owe someone an apology, Tristanne."

Tristanne said, "'Bee's such a drama queen."

The twins looked up. Dæmon names were not as easily given out as the name of their humans, and the dæmons didn't really speak in front of other humans or Autobots. Now they knew the name of Sam's dæmon, and she was Tristanne.

They didn't feel any inkling of surprise or happiness at this knowledge that Sam and his dæmon let them privy to. None at all.

_After a long time of study, the scientist believed that he had found the cure. It was a process that he called intercision, whereby a blade of cybertronium would be used to sever the spark energy in between two half-sparks, making each of them full sparks, and real twins._

_It was a quiet affair; so quiet that intercision was thought to be a myth by most of Cybertron. It was only known in the small community where the scientist worked. _

_It failed. The half-sparks placed under the blade all perished._

_It was pandemonium then. All the fears and suspicions about the half-sparks reached a murderous frenzy when the inhabitants found out that intercision failed. So much science, so much logic…it should have worked. In theory, it should have worked. _

_It became as though the half-sparks were monsters, uncanny, belonging to the world of nigh-ghasts and not to the waking world of sense._

_Then the whispers started, making wild claims. Even claims that the half-sparks were the heralds of Unicron._

_In their fearful frenzy, the witch hunt began._

_Sunstreaker and Sideswipe were almost fully-matured mechs by now, and their friends were just a little beyond younglinghood. When they found out what was going on, they razed the streets in search of their friends. Finally finding them, they pulled them to their feet, and started running for the other side of Cybertron._

"_What are we doing? Where are we going?" one asked amiably amidst the shouts and screams._

"_Don't you understand, you glitch?" Sunstreaker had yelled to her. "Don't you understand what's happening?"_

"_Yes," she had said. She had smiled at him in her kind, vague way. "Uh-huh. You're taking care of me and my sibling."_

_They couldn't respond to that, because their hunters were coming nearer, and they had to move._

_But when they had finally reached the Autobot side of Cybertron, it was too late._

It's been about ten minutes. Amongst themselves, Sideswipe bets that Bumblebee will cave and come get Sam in another thirty minutes. Sunstreaker bets fifteen.

A small ring pervades the air, and Sam picks up his cell phone.

"Hello? Oh, hi Mikaela!" Tristanne's ears perk, and she circles around Sam's legs as he paces back and forth on the ledge. "Oh, you know, just hangin' around," Sam chuckles into the phone. The boy is looking at the ground and at the ceiling, but never directly in front of him. Tristanne's eyes are focused on the phone. Neither boy nor his dæmon seems to notice the shrinking gap in between them and the edge of the shelf.

"You think we should do something?" Sideswipe asks, gesturing to the boy and his dæmon seemingly making a beeline for the edge.

"Nah," Sunstreaker says, pressing a button to view another screen of his data-pad. "As stupid as humans are, they can't be **that **stupid…"

"Uh-huh," the boy continues, neither slowing nor turning his path. His dæmon walks briskly beside him, still looking at the phone.

"Uh, Sunny…?" Sideswipe asks, getting up slightly in his seat. Sunstreaker gives his twin a glare.

"What?" He looks carelessly in the direction his brother was looking at, and his optics widen slightly.

"Me and 'Bee kind of got—" the rest of the sentence is cut off in a startled yelp as Sam reaches the edge, loses his footing, and stumbles off the ledge. Tristanne keeps her footing, but yowls in his fear and hers as he plummets towards the ground.

Sideswipe gets to his feet first, but Sunstreaker is closer. Sunstreaker ends up making a dive for the human, catching him in his hands. Then he is pushed, as his brother, running just a spark pulse behind him, doesn't stop in time and careens into him. Both are sent sprawling into the wall.

They get up slowly. Sunstreaker looks to make sure that the human didn't get squashed on the way down. Then his optics narrow.

"Are you crazy?!" he yells at the human. "Even glitch-mice have enough data not to—not to—"

Sam looks up shakily. "Oh," he says dazedly. "Hi, Sunstreaker."

Sunstreaker just stares at the human in his hands, calculating if dropping him from this current height would leave marks. Sideswipe doesn't know whether to laugh or to be slightly anxious for the squishy's life.

"Take him," Sunstreaker says finally, handing the human to his brother. "Just take him."

"Well, you certainly left a good impression," Sideswipe says. Sam is still a bit disoriented, and Tristanne is yowling to be with her human. "Come on, squishy-kitty," Sideswipe says, getting Tristanne from the ledge and joining her with her human once more.

_The half-sparked sisters haunted them after long that; haunted them as surely as Optimus' sparklings still haunted him, even eons after the last half-sparks faded. Sometimes they would be racing down a roadway, see something in the corner of their optics, and stop abruptly, thinking that a passing shadow was one of their friends. Sometimes, in deserted corridors, they would hear them laughing, beckoning them to play as they had many times before._

_But on some nights, dark nights, they could hear them crying and screaming._

"_They'll never forgive us," Sideswipe found himself telling Ratchet after a particularly bad night. Ratchet knew who he was talking about; he had seen to the twins and their fallen companions after they were brought in._

"_Maybe they have," Ratchet had answered him. "Maybe it is you that won't forgive yourselves."_

_Sunstreaker had scoffed. "It's easy for a mech to forgive himself."_

"_Is it now?" Ratchet had asked. It was one of the very few times in his life that Sunstreaker looked away._

Sideswipe and Sunstreaker are in the Autobot rec room, drinking some high-grade while they're off-duty. Sideswipe has his chin on the table, bored, and Sunstreaker, reading a data-pad, couldn't care less.

Their captive is currently on the desk, being held firmly by Sunstreaker's hand. Not for the first time in the past five minutes, he attempts to squirm out. Sunstreaker's grip tightens.

"Don't even think about it," Sunstreaker says, not looking from his data-pad.

"Oh come on!" Sam bursts out. "So I wasn't really paying attention that one time! Does that mean I have to be shackled somewhere for the rest of my life?" Tristanne paces around Sunstreaker's hand, jumps up his fingers to rub her head comfortingly against Sam, and then paces around again.

"Humans are rather dim, aren't they?" Sideswipe asks.

"What do you mean by that?" he asks. Tristanne pauses in her pacing, looking at him.

"We're not doing this for safety reasons," Sideswipe says, not moving. "You can go jump off a fifty story building and we'd probably celebrate. We just think that Bumblebee should be punished for making us put up with you."

Sam looks confused, but then the twins hear Bumblebee coming. Quickly, Sunstreaker places Sam under the table, Tristanne running and leaping onto Sunstreaker's knee to be closer to him.

"Uh, guys?" Bumblebee says, looking at the empty shelf ledge. "Have you seen a human and a cougar running around?"

"Nope," the twins say in unison. Sunstreaker can tell by Tristanne's change in posture that Sam has caught onto their plan. About time.

Bumblebee is still for a moment, and then his optics widen.

He rushes out of the rec room. "Jazz!" he yells down the corridor. "You gotta help me! I lost my human!"

Sunstreaker slowly lowers his hand to the ground, releasing the human. Tristanne jumps down lightly, using Sunstreaker's leg as a ramp, and joins him.

"Havoc and pandemonium," Sam says, nodding his head in understanding. "Interesting."

"Look at it this way," Sideswipe says lightly. "At least this'll teach him to leave you up on high ledges. Better go now, squishy," Sideswipe adds, as the sounds of hurrying footsteps approaches them. "And remember—this never happened."

"What never happened?" Sam asks innocently, and then the boy and his dæmon exited, using the Autobot base vents.

"Interesting creatures," Sideswipe remarks.

A pause.

"Stupid, but interesting," Sideswipe amends.

"I can agree to that."

_Despite what every other mech on board might believe, Sideswipe and Sunstreaker didn't actually hate the humans and their dæmons. They didn't like them, but, where their human allies were concerned, they didn't hate them. _

_The truth was that they couldn't hate them. How could they hate these laughing, joyous beings who remind them so very much of others who were so much like them?_

_They were wary of the humans, just as they were wary of the half-sparks. They didn't want to make the same mistake again. _

_But…but maybe it wasn't a mistake. Maybe all this was a second chance…or…or a sign, or something._

_Neither Sunstreaker nor Sideswipe believed in signs, but, the day they stopped Bumblebee's little foolish companion from becoming splatter on their nice clean rec room floor was the day that the crying in the back of their processors became quieter._

_Maybe, one day, they wouldn't hear crying anymore._


	8. Prowl

**Disclaimer:** Transformers; do not own. His Dark Materials/Golden Compass; do not own.

**Summary:** Semi-crossover; oneshot series. Prowl; Even Prowl had to wonder why, out of all mechs, it was he who was stuck in an underground watery cavern with three phobic humans and their jumpy dæmons.

**Author note: **I kind of took my own challenge. Oh well.

* * *

After

**Prowl**

It had been a couple of months since Mission City. There was still a government frenzy going on in the background, covering up the fact that they were not alone in the universe, and there were still plenty of questions and too little answers. Things were starting to calm down. Prowl's group, after the initial flurry of arrival, was, by now, all settled in. It was a good thing, too, because the Decepticons started to take notice of the incoming Autobots.

A Decepticon ambush was what led to their current predicament. Prowl wasn't the kind of mech to gripe or complain about whatever situation fate had cast in his way. It just wasn't productive. He would much rather concentrate his efforts on escaping from said situation. However, even he had to wonder why, out of all mechs, it was he who was stuck in a dark underground watery cavern with three phobic humans and their jumpy dæmons.

_The humans and their dæmons surprised and baffled the Autobots continuously. Each side was awkward with one another in an almost endearing way, and for the most part, they went through their share of cultural gaffs and embarrassments with nothing more than a couple of laughs._

_However, there was one cultural difference with which they could not smooth over with laughter. Their hosts were still trying to get used to the fact that Autobots, for the most part, occurred singularly, and the Autobots were still trying to get used to the fact that semi-spark splitting was a beautiful thing on this planet._

_The twins felt it more acutely than the singularly-occurring Autobots did. It was instinctual. But Prowl felt it in a different way._

Their entrance was blocked by huge chunks of rock, a result of Starscream's low and cowardly attempt at shooting the humans. It was completely devoid of light, save for Prowl's glowing optics. As if fate was toying with him, Prowl's external lights had been shattered when he got the humans out of the way of the falling debris.

So even though he could see his surroundings quite well because of an internal scanner, the humans were as good as blind.

Well, not exactly. Sam and Mikaela were slightly better off than Miles, as their senses mingled and magnified with those of their cougar dæmon and jaguar dæmon, respectively, whose cat-eyes penetrated through some of the darkness.

Miles, however, hadn't left Prowl's side. He was perched atop Prowl's foot, soothing Delaney who was making frightened monkey sounds in his arms.

"Where are Sam and Mikaela?" Miles asked, as he and Delaney looked futilely into the darkness.

"Over here," they said. Their dæmons gave two low growls.

"Where's that?"

"Um…lemme get back to you," Sam said, he and his dæmon taking a couple of steps forward. They were slightly to Prowl's right, and were dangerously close to the ledge that overlooked the slowly running river below.

Prowl moved to grab the humans and their dæmons from the ledge. Miles gasped at the unexpected movement, Sam yelped and Mikaela gave a short shriek. Their dæmons made a cacophony of sounds, echoing their discontent.

In his right hand, Sam gave a shaky laugh. "Geez, Prowl! Give a guy some warning!"

"I apologize," he said. "But you and Miss Mikaela were about to walk off a ledge and into a river a good fifteen feet below us."

A shocked pause, then Sam sighed. "I seem to have a habit of doing that, don't I?" His cougar dæmon rubbed comfortingly against him, settling into Prowl's palm. Sam's arm came to hook around Prowl's upraised thumb, and the other arm wrapped around his dæmon. Both boy and dæmon were trembling noticeably.

Mikaela, in Prowl's left hand, sat stiffly, and her dæmon was growling. _They sense Barricade in you. _Wasn't that what Miles said?

Prowl wasn't exactly sad, but he was disappointed. They were probably scared of him.

"My scanners indicate that there is an exit nearby," Prowl said finally. "With your limited visuals, I believe that it will be best if I transport you there."

"Um, thanks, Prowl," Sam said, he and his dæmon looking at the glow of his optics.

"Thanks," Mikaela said, not looking at him and her dæmon still growling slightly in her arms.

"Miles, if you could make your way to—"

"Already here," he heard Miles' voice say from his right shoulder. Delaney gave the baffled tactician a grateful pat on his cheek.

"How did you—?"

"Thank-you Prowl," Miles said innocently. Prowl just shook his head inwardly, then made his way through the dark.

_Prowl didn't know exactly how their bond became chains, became nothing more than a burden that both of them were shackled to. It didn't start out that way. Prowl remembered their younger days with fondness. _

"_Aw, Prowl, ya scared of the dark?"_

"_Am not!"_

"_Don't worry, squirt. I'll take care of ya."_

"_Hey! You can't call me squirt when you're the same age as me! We're twins, remember?"_

"_Well, yeah, but I act older. That's what counts."_

_No, wait. That's not exactly true. Prowl does remember the beginning—or perhaps it was the breaking point? But he remembers incidences—little bits of conversations, little ticks—that added up to—to something. And it came to a point that he couldn't stand looking at his brother anymore._

It seemed as though the deeper they went to the cavern, the darker it got. Sam and his dæmon started to tremble and shiver and squirm.

"Are you alright, Samuel?"

"Huh, me?" he said, his voice pitched an octave higher than it usually was. His dæmon was making a high-pitched, whining sound, and squirmed in his grasp. "Uh, yeah. I'm fine. Why shouldn't I be fine?" He looked distractedly all around him, not meeting Prowl's gaze.

Sam gave a sigh. "Guys," he started as his dæmon quieted down. "I guess it's a bad time to confess this, but I'm alchuophobic."

"What now?" were the responses simultaneously given by Miles and Mikaela.

"It means that I'm scared of the dark," he muttered.

"Oh," Mikaela murmured sympathetically.

"That sucks," Miles said from his perch.

Prowl couldn't understand. "Why?" Prowl said. "Darkness is merely the absence of light. Why should you fear it?"

"I guess it's not it that I fear, inasmuch as what could be hiding in it."

"There is nothing there, Sam," Prowl said patiently.

Sam shrugged, and his dæmon fidgeted, causing Prowl to curl his hand a little to keep her from falling off. "I just am, you know?" he said, fretfully looking all around him again.

No, Prowl didn't know. He didn't understand humans and their irrational fears.

"_I don't get what you're afraid of, squirt."_

"_Stop calling me that! I am not a 'squirt.'"_

"_Uh-huh…But y'are."_

"_Optimus! 'Cade's being mean again!"_

_Barricade had a strange hatred of the half-sparks, believing them to be demons that needed to be exterminated. Prowl had distanced himself from Barricade by the time the war started, but he was sure that Barricade was among those who thought that the half-sparks were the cause of it._

_It wasn't, really. The half-sparks were merely the breaking point, the "straw that broke the camel's back," as humans put it (Prowl didn't really understand the analogy, but understood what it was supposed to convey)._

_He had called Prowl a coward for not thinking the same, had blamed it on his irrational fear._

_In the end, Barricade didn't need Prowl's help to "cleanse" Cybertron. When all-out war ravaged Cybertron, the half-sparks faded, all by themselves._

"Well, while we're confessing," Mikaela said in a small voice. "I'm claustrophobic."

"Uh…"

"Means I'm scared of confined spaces," Mikaela elaborated, her jaguar yowling at the darkness.

"Wow," Miles said, clutching Delaney. "What are the chances?"

"What is it that you fear of confined spaces?" Prowl asked. "It is merely an enclosed area, is it not? And the ceiling of this cavern is still quite high above us. How can it feel confined to you?"

"I don't know," Mikaela said, cuddling her dæmon. "I just do."

He could feel his processors begin to freeze…

"And you?" he asked Miles. "Do you have some irrational fear that I should be aware of to preserve your state of well-being?"

"Well, now that you mention it," Miles said, his voice pitched a little higher, as though seeing the fears of his friends reminded him of his own fears. "I do suffer from anatidaephobia."

Prowl looked that up. _Anatidaephobia: Noun; coined by Gary Larson to describe the fear that somewhere, somehow, you are being watched by a duck._

Prowl's logic processors seemed to stop for a minute, in shock, before beginning to freeze again.

"The ducks…they're watching," Miles muttered, and Delaney clung to him, whimpering. "Always watching…Prowl, save me!" The boy attached himself to Prowl's right cheek, his dæmon on his shoulder and clinging to the baffled tactician as well.

Prowl restrained himself from sighing. It was amazing, but whenever he talked to Miles, something inside him self-destructed. He believed that, this time, it was his dignity.

"_Do you have no dignity?"_

"_Can it, 'Cade."_

"_I'm just sayin', Prowl, I'm just sayin'…"_

_Prowl knew that his comrades were wary of the humans. He could even foresee that some of the Autobots coming might even despise or even become disgusted by the humans on sight. But he knows that, with a twisted twin bond, he and Barricade were the closest living beings that resembled the half-sparks. Closer to the half-sparks than even the humans._

_That's how he knows that the humans and their dæmons are not quite like the half-sparks at all, and really, he doesn't quite understand how his comrades can make that similarity. The humans and their dæmons were, after all, very much __**whole. **_

Prowl watched Miles rock backward and forward on his shoulder for a little while, thumb in his mouth and monkey dæmon clambering from shoulder to shoulder. Prowl's thoughts were lost somewhere between _I wonder if he's alright _and _Whaaaaa?? _

"He's been like that since a duck attacked him in pre-school," Sam supplied sympathetically.

"Oh," was the only thing that Prowl and Mikaela managed to say.

Somehow, Prowl managed to get them across the cavern and to the other exit, without completely freezing. The absence of sound seemed to make them more aware of their irrational fears, so Prowl ended up speaking to them about random things—Bluestreak would have been so proud of him—to ward off the silence.

In turn the humans started to calm down a little, and their dæmons stopped growling and snapping at the darkness. They even started laughing, which gave Prowl warm and fuzzy feelings that he was pretty sure he was going to have to talk to Ratchet about later. It couldn't have been healthy.

As Prowl watched Sam and Mikaela reunite with an anxious Bumblebee, and as he watched Ratchet fuss over the lot of them—human, dæmon, and Autobot alike—Prowl knew that the humans were, on some level, still afraid of him, especially Sam and Mikaela. In the cavern, their phobias just overshadowed their wariness around him.

They still felt Barricade inside him, and probably always would. But, maybe, they had started to look past that, and started seeing Prowl. The humans and their dæmons were gathered into a mother-Bee's arms protectively, and as they smiled at Prowl, he was left thinking that that was a pretty good start.

"_You know we'll always be brothers, right?"_

"_Right."_

"_Love ya, squirt."_

"_Love ya, 'Cade."_

* * *

**Author notes: **

Anatidaephobia—fear that somehow, somewhere, a duck is watching you.

Achluophobia—fear of darkness

Claustrophobia—fear of confined spaces

Miles' little rant about how the ducks are always watching him actually came from swany10's comment on the challenge post at lj.


	9. Optimus

**Disclaimer:** Transformers; do not own. His Dark Materials/Golden Compass; do not own.

**Summary:** Semi-crossover; oneshot series. Optimus; But while they could almost visualize the dæmons of their intergalactic friends, Optimus' remained hidden inside him. Optimus was an enigma.

* * *

After

**Optimus**

It had been a few months since Mission City. The government frenzy, covering up the fact that they were not alone in the universe, had begun to settle now. There were still plenty of questions and too little answers, and they were resigned if not content with the fact that there would likely always be. Prowl's group had settled in comfortably without too many trips to the med-bay, despite what Ratchet said. The humans and the Autobots alike were awkward, but that awkwardness lessened each day as they figured out how to live with one another; humans and Autobots, sparks and dæmons.

Sam and his dæmon were walking through the corridors of the Autobot base, Bumblebee having giving them a five minute head start to find a suitable hiding place. Unfortunately, with Ratchet's ban on "Extreme hide-and-go-seek," they had to find more tame locations, like closets or behind the furniture. It wasn't as fun, but, unfortunately, they were under pain of Ratchet, so they had to make do.

Mikaela had separated from them already, right after they had passed Keller, Simmons, and Banachek. Keller's barn owl had nodded at them as they passed, Banachek's coyote was ever cool and calm, and Simmons' road runner was a puff ball of ruffled feathers on his shoulder. They had been in some sort of meeting with Optimus.

"Wasn't Simmons sacked? What's he doing still around?" Sam had asked Mikaela once all three were out of earshot.

Mikaela had shrugged. "Things like Sector Seven don't disappear overnight. Sure, it got dissolved, but there's still someone pulling strings in power. I'm pretty sure that things just got moved around—in the end, Sector Seven's still there."

Tristanne had given a low growl at that, but they all knew that it was true. Anti-giant-sentient-robot feelings didn't go away at the drop of a dime.

"So where should we go?" Sam asked his dæmon. "Bumblebee will be looking any minute now."

"Let's see…we've already been through most of the rooms on the ground floor, including the shooting range…"

"So…roof?"

"Roof."

They bounded up some escalators and, with some difficulty, got up a set of overgrown stairs, and finally reached the roof. They surveyed the scene before them, the Nevada desert greeting them with a blast of warm air. The sun was just beginning to set. Tristanne stretched luxuriously to be out in the open, and Sam spun around for no reason, laughing.

She heard someone coming before he did, and pulled him aside, hiding in a shadowed corner of the roof.

"You think that's Bumblebee?" he whispered.

"Could be, but that was sure fast. Usually we manage to give him a good run-around," she whispered back.

"The footsteps sound…heavy. And I'm pretty sure Bumblebee walks quicker than that."

"Damn. Who do you think it is?"

"I don't know. Hope they leave soon though."

"We'll only have to worry if it's Ironhide or Red Alert. They'll totally rat us out."

They relaxed marginally when they saw Optimus coming out on the roof.

"Hi, Optimus," Sam said loudly, he and his dæmon coming out into the light, and then stared. It was so odd to see an Autobot…jump, for lack of better word. He and Tristanne exchanged a baffled glance.

"Greetings, Sam," Optimus said, recovering. "I apologize. I was not aware that you were there."

"That's okay," Sam said lightly. "I mean, uh, I get that a lot, so you don't have to apologize."

There was a pause, and Sam coughed uncomfortably as Optimus missed the admittedly weak joke. Tristanne pressed herself against him.

"Er…um…enjoying the view?" Sam blurted out.

"Yes, I am," Optimus said.

"Yeah, um, so am I."

"Can you see properly from where you are standing? The setting sun is behind you from that angle."

"Um…"

Optimus chuckled then, though it was enough to shake his entire frame. Sam could only stare, for it was like watching a mountain laugh.

"Don't worry, Sam. I will not give away your hiding place," Optimus said pointedly. Sam blushed, and Tristanne's fur bristled.

"So…um…you heard?"

"The entire base knows when you and Bumblebee play this game," Optimus said simply, and Sam blushed deeper. Tristanne growled in anxiety, and curled around behind his legs.

Optimus sat down then, one leg propped up and the other stretched out, looking out into the desert. The remains of the sunlight glinted off his entire body. He didn't look distracted, exactly, but he did have a far-away look on his faceplate. They looked at the Autobot leader, and felt each other's awe and something akin to pity, though they didn't know where the pity came from.

It must have been hard, they thought. To be a leader of a crumbling planet, to chase after their only hope through eons and eons of stars and strange planets…and now, to try and pick up the pieces in a new world.

Sam wasn't that close to Optimus, not like he was with Bumblebee, or, with many of the other Autobots. And he knew that most of the humans felt the same way.

They were no longer perturbed by their intergalactic neighbours' lack of dæmons. Indeed, they could just see, in their minds' eye, how Bumblebee's Camaro dæmon revved her engine disapprovingly when they did something dangerous, how Sunstreaker and Sideswipe's shared Lambourgini dæmon primly held herself, how Ratchet's hummer dæmon raved and ranted alongside him…But while they could almost visualize the dæmons of their intergalactic friends, Optimus' remained hidden inside him. Optimus was an enigma.

But hadn't they all been an enigma at first? Sam and Tristanne to Bumblebee, Bumblebee to Sam and Tristanne?

_Maybe we have to make the first move…_

Tristanne padded out from behind Sam, heading towards Optimus, and Sam followed. They didn't look up, but Optimus did not protest, as they settled on top of his kneecap.

"Hide us?"

"Always."

"You think it's kind of weird? Playing hide-and-go-seek again?" Sam said, not realizing that he said it aloud. Tristanne pressed herself against him.

"No," Optimus said, either not noticing or choosing to ignore Sam's obvious embarrassment. "Rules change when the seeker is not human."

"Guess so. Makes hide-and-go-seek look like an extreme sport."

Neither said anything, but they knew that there was a method to their madness. Though some things that the Autobots did with them were silly and sometimes downright cracky, hide-and-go-seek being a great example, they all had a point.

Like when someone would enter Ratchet's med-bay at the precise moment that they were there, so that they could see and even practice on how to fix an energon leak or how to bring optics back online.

Like when Ironhide allowed them inside the shooting range and let them handle some cassette-sized Autobot weaponry.

Like when the twins gave them snide, caustic, but useful advice on looking out for two bodies in a battlefield, because everyone knew that if one being in the person, either the human or the dæmon, died, the other being would die with them.

Like when Bumblebee "played" hide-and-go-seek with them, so that they would better learn how to hide from a Decepticon who was looking for them.

Or…or like when Optimus put up with people like Simmons, because he wanted to keep the human populace as safe as possible from the Decepticons.

They stayed still for a long time, it seemed, the only sound coming from the soft whirrs of Optimus' inner workings and Tristanne's soft purring. They could not tell what Optimus was thinking, whether he was merely contemplating the beauty of the earth or remembering with mixed feelings the planet they left behind.

Sam thought about asking Optimus…many things. About the Autobots, about Cybertron, about why, when the Autobots thought that they weren't looking, they looked at the humans with a mixture of sadness and confusion.

He held his silence though, and only Tristanne's ceased purring showed his confusion. Optimus doubtless noticed it—he watched the dæmons' actions more closely than any other Autobot—but did not remark on it.

Optimus broke the silence.

"When a person dies," Optimus said quietly, "what happens to their dæmon?"

Sam and Tristanne looked up, startled. Tristanne gave a low growl at the question, pressing herself against Sam, and he placed a comforting hand on her head, stroking her behind her ear.

"Um, well, they fade, big guy," Sam said clumsily, looking up at Optimus. "They drift and fade away, like…like—"

"Like atoms of smoke," Optimus rumbled slowly and quietly, as though he was talking to himself.

"Yeah. Yeah, that's one way to put it," Sam said after a pause. "How'd you know?"

"That is what happens to a dying spark," Optimus said, still looking out into the sunset.

"Oh."

"In many ways," Optimus said carefully, "humans and Autobots are very much alike." He looked at them then, and what they thought was a quirky half-smile graced his features.

Sam and Tristanne stared, surprised. They had never thought about it that way—a lot of the time, they had thought about the differences between the two races, and rejoiced in them. But…for Optimus to say that the human race was akin to the Autobot race…it was comforting, in a strange way.

Tristanne purred, and Sam took a deep breath. "Yeah, guess so." Okay, not exactly the most eloquent sentiment of all time, but oh well.

Sam still wondered why the Autobots looked at the humans and their dæmons strangely, some times. He wondered why their…their almost sadness was most evident in Optimus. But both he and Tristanne knew that now was not the time for such questions.

Optimus was an enigma, they were okay with that, for now. After all, he was a friend.

Sam settled back, resting on top of Optimus' kneecap and Tristanne resting her head and forepaws on top of his thigh. Silence pervaded again, but this time, it was a companionable silence.

The humans and the Autobots alike were awkward, but that awkwardness lessened each day as they figured out how to live with one another; humans and Autobots, sparks and dæmons.


End file.
